The Golden Shield of IBF Read Online Free Page B

others attired even more oddly than the girl who had guided her across the road. What land was this? Swan had learned spells to translate writings so that she could assist Erg’Ran in his translations from the prophecies of Mir. They required little magical energy once mastered. She cast such a spell now to interpret the runic symbols on the cover of a colorful book the courtier with the flashy sword held in his hand. And Swan wondered, what was a DragonCon? A Comics Expo? What was an Atlanta?
    She would need a spoken language spell, and very quickly, because the girl who wore the animal collar and overbound her breasts with leather was talking to her again and so was the half-cat, half-woman creature.

Chapter Two

    It was stuffy in the back of the FBI field command vehicle, the Saturday afternoon sunshine defeating the air conditioning, aided by the heat inside generated from the banks of electronic equipment. A row of video monitors was running real time surveillance feeds from cameras hastily positioned to surround DragonCon’s principal venue and the other two buildings in question. Even a moment’s glance at the monitors confirmed that a seemingly unending stream of people, many of them costumed after their favorite characters in science fiction and fantasy, were busily entering, hanging out in front of or leaving the convention. The camera operators and two agents did nothing but study the monitors, looking for one particular face.
    So far, no one had seen that face and chances were good that the suspect they sought was still inside, mingling with the convention crowd. A third agent, monitoring the systems, could work a switcher and replay tape of the real time video feed. There had been one false alarm, but other than that not even a sign of the bomber.
    Tom Criswell’s fingers were a blur over his computer keyboard, hacking into DragonCon’s computer system. The BATF bomb specialist, Jim Sutton, was using a laptop—this was an FBI van and Sutton was BATF—for the purposes of getting all the background he could on William Culberton Brownwood, self-styled right-wing fanatical avenger. “Well, he’s never had a moving violation,” Sutton announced, “and his next door neighbor drives a Pontiac.”
    Alan Garrison’s attention was divided between listening to Matt Wisnewski, the SAC who was running the operation, and checking his weapons. “I’ll tell you right now, gentlemen,” Wisnewski said, “that I’d rather we use standard procedures to evacuate the buildings and isolate the suspect. And, no offense to BATF, Sutton, but I’ve always felt that the Bureau can best handle situations of this nature on its own.”
    “What you’re really ticked off about, Wisnewski, is that I called the U.S. Attorney and, for once in history, Justice listened to Treasury and decided there was a situation that couldn’t be played by the Bureau’s rulebook,” Sutton declared. “If we tried a mass evacuation, we’d lose our bomber in the crowd. If we checked every parcel and bundle and purse, the suspect would either detonate his device as a diversion to cover his getaway or slip out some other way because it would take fucking forever.”
    Without looking away from his computer screen, Tom Criswell remarked, “I’m in. This DragonCon convention? They’ve got over eighteen thousand registered attendees in three separate buildings that are all interconnected!”
    “It’s the largest science fiction and fantasy convention in the Southeast, one of the largest in the world, and Saturday is always the best attended day. I’ve never missed one. I was here last night, as a matter of fact, so I’ve already got my convention badge,” Garrison informed them.
    “By the time this is over, Garrison, that may be the only badge you’ll have,” Wisnewski cracked. “Just because you can blend in here with these science fiction people doesn’t mean squat, Garrison. And getting your BATF buddy Sutton here to go around me to